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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26795989">Shackles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSlothy/pseuds/MissSlothy'>MissSlothy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hawaii Five-0 (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Episode: s05e07 Ina Paha (If Perhaps), Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pain, Pre-Relationship, Violence, Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:53:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,952</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26795989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSlothy/pseuds/MissSlothy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Showing his badge to the police officer on duty outside, Steve slips inside the dry cleaners.</p><p>A memory stirs, deep inside his mind.  Dark. Painful.  Raw.</p><p>Written for Whumptober 2020.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983485</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Shackles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set at the start of season 10.</p><p>Prompt  - Shackles - taken from Whumptober challenge: https://whumptober2020.tumblr.com/</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two tough cases, one straight after the other.  Weeks with just a few hours of sleep every night.  With hindsight Steve will realise that exhaustion is screwing with his decision making capabilities.  Right now though, the only thing he’s focused on is the case.</p><p>The industrial area out near the airport is somewhere they end up regularly.  He knows the area well.  So when the call comes in that their suspects have been spotted at an industrial dry cleaners near there he doesn’t think twice.  Switching on the flashing lights on his truck, he pulls out of the traffic and puts his foot down.</p><p>Arriving a few minutes later, he parks outside.  He’s not the only one there.  A least half a dozen HPD cruisers are parked out front too, their lights flashing.  According to the chatter on the radio, there’s been a firefight.  Getting out of the truck, he strides off to find out what’s going on.</p><p>He doesn’t need to look far: Tani’s car is parked closest to the entrance  Showing his badge to the police officer on duty outside, he slips inside the dry cleaners.</p><p>A memory stirs, deep inside his mind.  Dark. Painful.  Raw.</p><p>Shaking it off, he takes in his surroundings.  The room he’s walked into is huge but so are the industrial laundry machines that fill it.   The employees are lined up along one wall, herded by HPD officers.  The forensics team are streaming in from another door, like a stream of worker ants clad in blue overalls and carrying boxes of equipment.</p><p>Mentally dismissing them, he carries on into the room.</p><p>There’s something familiar about the place he can’t put his finger on.  Like an image in the corner of his eye he can’t quite see.  Frowning, he scans the place again, and starts walking.  Turning the corner, around the end of a giant drying machine, he finds what’s he come for.  Tani.  Junior.  And a very dead body.</p><p>His frown grows.  It’s just one body.  There are two known suspect, maybe more.</p><p>“Our other suspect took off through the back door,” Junior reports, readying his mind.  “We caught him on the way out.  He’s wounded, on his way to Kings.  Paramedics said he should be fine once the guys in ER have stopped the bleeding.  Adam’s gone with.”</p><p>Steve doesn’t ask where the bleeding is from: it’s an irrelevant detail.  They’ve got more important things to worry about.  “The documents and drugs they stole from HPD lockup?”</p><p>Tani looks like she’s sucking on a lemon.  “No sign of them so far.” Her eyes sweep around the huge room and the endless number of potential hiding places.  “Guess we better keep on looking.”</p><p>Steve sighs, feeling her pain.  There’s no guarantee they’re in here.  The person who paid for the documents to be stolen – the head of an international money laundering ring – isn’t stupid.  He’s been ahead of them every step of the way.  “Lou and Danny will be here soon.  And Duke’s put out the call for the sniffer dogs.  We need to  start going through this place once with a fine tooth comb.  These guys, they came here for a reason.  We need to know why.” </p><p>Tani huffs softly. </p><p>Steve raises his eyebrows.  Grins to soften his silent rebuke.  He gets why she doesn’t think this is a good idea.  It’s the height of summer and sweltering outside.  Inside the laundry it’s hot as hell (literally).  But - as Danny taught him years ago when he first started the task force - there are no shortcuts in detective work.  Sometimes it’s all about the hard graft.</p><p>Tani rolls her eyes at him but a nudge from Junior gets them both moving.  Bickering quietly, they head off to start the search.</p><p>Grinning to himself, Steve watches them go.  Turning, he finds the Forensic team is loitering.  They’re twitching, impatient to get to the body.  Nodding at them, he steps back, heads off to start his own search.</p><p>The warehouse is huge, full of industrial cleaning equipment.  There are a line of tables, used to iron clothes on.  Clothes are hanging everywhere he looks, waiting to be cleaned and returned to their owner.  There are going to be a lot of unhappy customers, Steve thinks, as he weaves his way around the tables.  Forensics are going to need to close this place down for at least a few days.</p><p>Over at the far wall there’s a half-open door.  The place has been cleared by HPD but he still whistles to get Junior’s attention across the other side of the warehouse.  Once he’s got it, he points at the door.  Waiting just long enough to register Junior’s nod and quick thumbs up, he pushes open the door.</p><p>On the other side there’s a corridor.  Large washing machines line each side.  The feeling of déjà vu is back with a vengeance.  Scratching his head, he tries to capture it.  To fix it in a time and place.  He’s got an excellent memory normally.  This vagueness, it’s unsettling.</p><p>At the end of the corridor, there’s another closed door.</p><p>Steve glances over his shoulder, considers calling for Junior and Tani.  But his brain’s fixated on the door, like a guided missile.  It’s leaving him no choice but to walk through.</p><p>Gun in hand, he opens it slowly.  Heart thumping, he peers into the darkness on the other side.  There’s a flight of concrete steps going downwards.  Frowning, he re-evaluates: places like this don’t usually have a basement.</p><p>Pulling out the flashlight from his jacket, he goes down anyway.</p><p>There <em>is</em> a basement.  The flashlight reveals it in flickering snatches.  A concrete floor.  No windows. Just an old workbench along one side.  Running the light across the ceiling reveals a criss-cross pattern of water pipes.  Without questioning it he suddenly knows that they’re filled with cold water because he can remember pulling a pipe down and drinking it.  He salivates in reaction, remembering how it had soothed his sore throat.</p><p>Now he knows where he is.  Wo Fat’s prison.  The place where he was mentally and physically tortured.  Where he’d had a moment of hope that his Dad was alive, only to lose it again.</p><p>His arm goes slack.  The beam of light drops to the floor.  Standing in the darkness, all he can hear is the thud, thud, thud of his heart racing.  The concrete walls have muted all the sounds from the warehouse above him.  Wo Fat had picked the location of his torture chamber well.</p><p><em>Get out, </em>his instincts are yelling at him.  Goosebumps prickle his skin.  He doesn’t move though.  <em>Can’t</em> move because it feels like the room and the darkness are challenging him.  And he’ll be damned if he’ll let Wo Fat beat him at anything.  Even from the grave.</p><p>Memories stir, more of a feeling than an actual visual memory.  Holding his ground he mentally prods them, poking at them like a sore tooth.  There’s pain there but nothing he can’t handle.  Wo Fat’s dead, he reminds himself silently.  It’s been five years.  Way long enough to forget.</p><p>“Steve?  Steve?  Are you down here?”</p><p>Danny.  Hurried footsteps coming down the stairs. </p><p>Reality comes crashing in.  It suddenly occurs to him how bad this will look.  Particularly to Danny.  Jerking into action, he loses his grip on the flashlight.  Plunged into darkness, cursing, he drops to his knees to find it.</p><p>The footsteps stop.  “Steve?  You okay?”</p><p>An overhead light comes on, making him flinch.  Blinking to get rid of the spots floating in his vision, he gets to his feet.  “I’m fine.  Dropped my flashlight,” he mumbles, already knowing that’s nothing’s going to be enough to reassure Danny.  Danny had been his shadow for weeks after they’d rescued him out of here.  <em>Weeks.</em></p><p>Danny’s standing in the doorway, his gun dangling from one hand.  Breathing hard, his chest is heaving.  He raises a hand, takes a step forward.  Hesitates.  Takes another one.  “You sure?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m sure.” Steve forces a weak smile.  Now the lights are on, there’s no denying he’s a little freaked out.  The place looks different but in many ways it looks the same.  A shiver slides down his spine.</p><p>Danny’s eyes narrow.  “You need to work on your poker face, babe.”  Looking around the basement he exhales shakily.  “Lets get out of here.”</p><p>Steve lets Danny escort him back up the stairs.  The weight of Danny’s hand resting gently on his hip helps ground him.  By the time he’s at the top of the stairs, he feels almost normal.  Back in daylight though, he realises how pale Danny looks.</p><p>Hugging on duty isn’t something he normally indulges in.  But Danny really looks like he could do with one now.  There’s a clash of spare ammunition – they’re both wearing their protective vests – but Steve pulls Danny in as close as he can.</p><p>Danny sags, rests his forehead against his chest.  “Years, Steve.  I heard that address on the radio, it took years off my life.”  He pulls back.  “You sure you’re okay?  What were you doing down there?”</p><p>Steve rubs at his nose as he considers that.  “I dunno.”</p><p>“You don’t know?”</p><p>“I mean…”  Steve shrugs.  “I didn’t know this was <em>the </em>place.  I can’t remember, not really.  I mean…it’s  a blur.”</p><p>A shadow crosses Danny’s face.  “I  get it.”  He glances back down the stairs.  “Can we get out of here please?”</p><p>Steve doesn’t need asking twice. </p><p>H50H50H50</p><p>The rest of the day is busy.  Steve’s grateful.  It doesn’t escape his notice the sympathetic looks Lou and Adam are throwing his way.  He’s pretty sure Junior and Tani have been bought up to speed too.  Sitting in his office is the only way to avoid their worried attention. </p><p>Danny, unsurprisingly, is less subtle.  He spends most of the afternoon dropping into Steve’s office.  Steve’s <em>space.  </em>They talk about nothing - and they definitely don’t talk about what happened at the dry cleaners.  Danny’s on edge though, unable to sit still. So it’s even less of a surprise when Danny announces that he’s cooking dinner for Steve that night.</p><p>Sitting back in his chair, Steve considers the offer.  There’s a fine line to be walked.  If he looks too eager Danny will be even more worried.  “Meatballs and pasta?”</p><p>Danny huffs. Bobs his head from side to side.   “If that’s what you want.”</p><p>“With garlic bread.”</p><p>“Anything else?”  Danny’s eye roll speaks volumes.</p><p>Steve shakes his head.  “I’m good.”</p><p>“I’m good, he says,” Danny mutters under his breath.  “You keep telling yourself that, babe.” </p><p>H50H50H50</p><p>Danny heads out early to go to the grocery store.  Steve goes home not long after.  Feeding Eddie, he quickly tidies up the house. </p><p>He’s out the back, pouring detergent into the washing machine, when it happens.  A creepy crawling feeling, like cockroaches skittering across his skin.  His hands curl into fists.  Stomach roiling, he scrambles to his feet.  Throwing the laundry into the machine, he strides into the kitchen.  His hands shake as he downs a glass of water.</p><p>Flashbacks.  PTSD.  Labels have never been his thing.  It’s not his first rodeo.  Not the first time he’s experienced these warning signals.  It’ll pass.</p><p>He’s halfway through his second glass of water when the rumble of the Camaro’s engine signals Danny’s arrival.  By the time Danny appears in the kitchen door, carrying groceries, he’s wiped his face, washed up the glass and he’s waiting, arms crossed.</p><p>Danny, of course, sees straight through him.  “You’re looking better,” he says, opening the refrigerator and emptying the groceries into it.</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>Danny doesn’t stop stacking.  “Nope.  I’m lying.  You look like shit.  Beer?”</p><p>Steve pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Thanks.”</p><p>“You just going to stand there or you going to help me cook?”</p><p>Steve looks up, finds himself staring straight into Danny’s eyes.  They are pools of sadness and worry.  It sends a stab of pain through his heart.  He wonders, not for the first time, if Danny knows how important is to him.  How lonely his life would have been without him in it.  “I thought you said you were going to cook for me?”</p><p>“You want to eat or you just gonna bitch about it?”</p><p>Steve takes the beer he’s being offered.  “I want to eat.”</p><p>H50H50H50</p><p>Danny’s an amazing cook.  Dinner, of course, is excellent.  The latest blockbuster movie they decide to watch, not so much.  It’s not really the point of spending the evening together though and they both know it. </p><p>As the credits roll on the movie, Danny breaks the silence.  “You want to talk about it?”</p><p>Steve stares morosely at the almost-empty bottle of beer he’s holding.  The food, the beer and the company (mostly the company) have left him with a sense of calm and security.  He doesn’t want to give that up.  “About what?” Glancing over at Danny, he instantly feels repentant.  Sighing, he turns his attention to the conversation.  “Not really.”</p><p>Danny nudges him with his shoulder.  “Well I do.  We never talked about it, Steve.  And I was okay with that.  I was, because you needed space and you were looking for your mom and….  Pushing you felt like a dick move.”</p><p>“And now?”</p><p>“I think you should talk to someone.”</p><p>Steve huffs his disagreement.  “It was five years ago.”</p><p>“You’re forgetting I saw your face this morning, babe.”</p><p>“I wasn’t….expecting it is all.”</p><p>Danny sucks on his bottom lip, thoughtful.  “You really didn’t go find the place afterwards?  I always though…maybe…maybe you had.  Your idea of therapy is facing the problem head on with an AK-47 and a stun grenade.”</p><p>Danny’s not wrong.  “I had a lot on my mind back then.”</p><p>“Yeah.”  Danny throws back the last of his beer.  A serious tone has crept into his voice.  “I still think you should talk to someone.”</p><p>Steve watches him.  Tries to read his body language.  Because this is what they do; they dance around serious arguments, praying this isn’t the one that might throw them out of each other’s trajectory.  Tonight he’s too tired to measure the risk accurately.  “Okay.”</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“I’ll talk to someone.”</p><p>Danny looks doubtful.  Sighs. “I ought to get going.”</p><p>“Stay.”  He quirks his mouth up in an apologetic half smile.  “I’ve got eggs for breakfast.  The guest bedroom is made up.”  Inwardly he cringes at the formal approach.  Normally Danny wouldn’t have needed to drop that hint.  It proves what a tough day it’s been.  “There’re clean tees and shorts out in the laundry.  I’m…I’m gonna let Eddie out.”</p><p>Discarding his beer bottle, he heads for the back door, Eddie close on his heels.  Making it outside, he drags in a lungful of sea air. Danny will have noticed his change of behaviour, his reluctance to get the tees and shorts from the laundry himself. </p><p>Standing out in the garden, he waits for the light in the guest room to go on and off.  Then, calling Eddie, he trudges back inside.</p><p>H50H50H50</p><p>
  <em>Steve knows what is coming, as soon as he sees Wo Fat is holding a cattle prod..  Stupidly he manages to convince himself that the anticipation of pain is worse than the pain itself.  Not long.  Just for a second.  Then the prod makes contact with his abdomen and he realises how wrong he was.</em>
</p><p><em>The electric shock paralyses his breathing.  His heart flutters, jumps, flutters again.  Muscles throughout his body contract involuntarily.  He strains against the shackles, desperate to escape the pain.  Hands cramping around the arm rests he tries to switch off his brain.  To ride the pain like he’s been taught to.  But fuck, </em>fuck<em> it hurts</em>.</p><p>
  <em>“The Navy’s taught you well.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The shock buzzes through his body, even after the prod is gone.  ‘Breathe, for fuck’s sake, breathe’ is all he can think. It’s still hard to get the air in though.  To make his heart rate calm down from where it’s sky rocketed.  It’s only sheer stubbornness that’s keeping him upright.  That and the red hot, blinding anger that he feels for Wo Fat.  “ </em>
  <em>You son of... I'm gonna kill you. And then I'm gonna find your father. I'm gonna kill him just for having you…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Then you're going to have to kill your mother, too.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The drugs in his system are making it difficult to think straight.  His vision and hearing is affected too.  But Wo Fat’s words cut through that.  Threaten to rob him of his breath again.  “</em>
  <em>What are you talking about?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Your mother is more responsible for who I am today.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Stop talking in circles!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The prod strikes him on the shoulder.  No warning this time.  Everything blanks out for a second, as he strains to escape the pain. His body goes rigid.  No amount of training can make him ignore the pain running through his body.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Deep down he’s know it’s only for a few seconds – he’d be dead otherwise – but it feels like it lasts forever.  He smells burning flesh.  When it stops his lungs are screaming for oxygen. His heart is beating so loud in his ears he thinks it’s going to burst.  Sheer stubbornness isn’t enough this time.  Now it’s his need to live that’s keeping him breathing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As he starts silently counting, breathe in, breathe out, he’s vaguely aware of Wo Fat moving.  Of something metal being placed on the floor in front of him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You know nothing about the real Doris McGarrett. Do you?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The use of his mom’s name tears at him.  He’s desperate to make eye contact with Wo Fat.  To prove to the motherfucker he’s not beaten yet.  But breathing’s his priority.  And it’s taking all his energy just to do that.  “I know... that she was assigned to kill your father. But instead your mother died in that op.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes. And she never forgave herself for murdering an innocent woman who had just become a new mother. That pain and anguish caused her to do something quite... remarkable. She took in that child and raised it as her own for several years. Until her superiors discovered this... and forced her... They forced her to abandon that child.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dawning understanding cuts through the pulsing pain and mental confusion.  He forces himself to look up, lets the anger and adrenaline do their job.  “That was you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wo Fat stares back at him, his expression a mockery of sympathy.  “You see? Doris McGarrett... was my mother, too. If Doris knew where my father was, she would've told me. But with your persistence, I can't help but believe you know where your government is holding him.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don't.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That may be true. But I need to be convinced.”  Wo Fat stands up, signaling they’re done.  Turning, he walks towards the door.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Steve drags himself upright.  Alarm bells are ringing in his head.  “I'm telling you the truth.”  Wo Fat might not be planning to kill him but on the opposite side of that door are other people he can hurt.  Mary.  His team.  Danny.  Oh god, Danny. “I don't know where your father is…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The click of the door closing sounds final.  It cuts through the fog in his head.  Now it’s just him and Wo Fat’s torturer.  He has to make every second has to count.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Adrenaline surges through his body, turning his senses razor sharp.  It enables him to anticipate his torturer’s next action, to be ready to head butt her in face.  Making contact rattles his brain but the urge to stay alive has taken over.  Throwing his weight backwards, he uses the shackles to help swing the chair round as a weapon.  Taken by surprise, she tumbles to the ground.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She fights – fuck she fights – but he’s ready for her.  He’s been trained by some of the best in the world.  When it comes to a fight to the death he won’t hesitate.  That’s been trained out of him, that instinctive aversion to taking life.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s not easy though.  Not like it normally would.  Co-ordination shot, muscles weak, she easily matches him.  Forcing his numb arms and legs to work, he brings her down.  Using the shackles that have held him as a weapon, he wraps one around her neck and pulls until he can’t pull any more.  Even then she keeps moving, fighting for her life until the end.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Exhausted, he collapses onto the concrete floor, barely breathing.  The room is going in and out of focus at an alarming rate.  For a moment he thinks he’s going to pass out but from somewhere he dredges up another wave of adrenaline.  Rolling painfully onto his side, he crawls to his feet…</em>
</p><p>“Steve?”</p><p>His mind reaches out towards the voice that’s intruded on his nightmare.  He holds on, letting it pull him out of the dark.  With the images still lingering – his mind stuck in limbo – he opens his eyes.  “Wo Fat…”</p><p>“He’s dead.  You’re safe, Steve.”</p><p>The bedroom is dark, apart from soft light spilling through from the hallway.  There’s a dark shape standing a few steps away from the bed.  Just far enough away to be out of his reach.</p><p>“Danny.” He coughs.  His throat feels dry.  “Did I….did I wake you up?”</p><p>“I’m good.”</p><p>Everything about Danny’s voice suggests otherwise but he lets it go.  Dragging his palm across his face he tries to wake up.  Everything still feels disjointed, like his body isn’t his own. </p><p>“Can I turn on a light?”</p><p>Steve grunts his agreement.  They’ve been here before.  He knows Danny has more sense than to put on the overhead light.  Danny proves the point as he walks around the other side of the bed to turn on the bedside lamp.</p><p>Steve’s heart sinks as the lamp illuminates Danny’s face.  Hair ruffled, breathing hard, it’s obvious he’s been rudely awaken.  Dark circles under his eyes and the tight line of his mouth only add to the worried vibes he’s giving off.</p><p>“I’m sorry.  I was…it was—”</p><p>“I know, babe.”</p><p>He swallows, working around the lump in his throat.  “I’ll be alright.  Go back to bed.”</p><p>Danny huffs.  Turns, disappears into the bathroom.  The light goes on.  Water runs.</p><p>Steve slumps back into his pillows.  Staring at the ceiling, he wills his heart rate to slow.  The nightmare had felt so real, so visceral.  His skin feels like its buzzing.  Even his wrists ache from the remembered rub of the shackles.  Sweat is making the sheets stick to him.  Uncomfortable, he throws them back.</p><p>“Here you go.”  Danny’s reappeared with a glass of water.</p><p>Steve’s heart twinges painfully.  Danny’s still keeping a safe distance on the other side of the bed.  They’d discussed this in the early days, about what was acceptable after one of his ‘dreams’.  Normally he’s grateful for Danny’s care.  Tonight his caution stings.  </p><p>Annoyed with himself, he pats the mattress beside him.</p><p>Danny studies him for a moment.  Then he stretches out on the bed beside him.  Puffing up the pillows, he sticks them behind his head.</p><p>Steve sips at the water.  It’s cool, slips down his sore throat.  For a second his mind stutters, flicks back to the Wo Fat’s dungeon, the cold water he’d hungrily drunk from the overhead pipe.  It had tasted awful.  Dirty.  Tightening his grip on the glass, he grapples back control.</p><p>“Babe?”</p><p>Reluctantly he meets Danny’s eyes.  Forcing his hand not to shake, he hands back the glass.  “Thanks.”</p><p>Danny worries at his bottom lip with his teeth.  The crease between his eyebrows deepens.  “You gonna be able to go back to sleep?”</p><p>He goes to shake his head.  Stops himself.  Every inch of his body wants out of here.  But where he goes tonight Danny will follow.  And Danny’s had a bad day too.  “I guess so.”</p><p>It says something about their relationship, Steve thinks, that Danny stretching out on the bed beside him really isn’t weird.  Hell, if he had the choice, Danny would be under the sheets and wrapped around him.  Closing his eyes, he reaches out so his fingers are just resting on Danny’s belly.  Breathing deeply, he wills himself to relax.</p><p>When Danny reaches over to pull the sheets over him, he lets him.  When Danny rests his hand over his, he lets him do that too.  Normally any touch, any restriction, would trigger off another nightmare.  Tonight the warmth of Danny’s skin against his does the opposite thing.</p><p>To his surprise, he actually dozes.</p><p>H50H50H50</p><p>The second time he wakes, light is creeping under the curtains.  Eyes scrunched, he tries to get his bearings.  His body is still tingling, a sure sign he’s had a bad nightmare.  His mouth is dry, his skin is sticky and itchy.  But he’s safe, that much he’s sure of.  And as he rolls over, he knows why.</p><p>Danny’s still stretched out on the bed beside him.  But now he’s propped up on his pillows, reading a book.  As he watches, Danny flicks over a page, his eyes moving down the page.  When their eyes meet over the edge of the book, he smiles softly.  It transforms his face, reaches his eyes, lighting them up.</p><p>“How you doing, babe?”</p><p>“Better,” he answers truthfully.  He doesn’t feel <em>good</em> – the images from the nightmare are still lingering, just on the edge of his consciousness – but considering the circumstances, he’s glad he doesn’t feel worse.</p><p>Danny hums under his breath, raises his eyebrows.  “You need anything?”</p><p>Steve barely hears him.  His hand, he’s just realised, is now resting on Danny’s hip.  The jersey fabric of Danny’s sleep shorts feels very thin under his fingertips.  Resisting the urge to snatch his hand back – Danny doesn’t seem bothered – he shrugs.  “Nothing.  I’m good.”</p><p>With a bob of his head, Danny returns to his book.</p><p>Steve squints, trying to read the title.  “Growing your own vegetables in Hawaii?”</p><p>Danny tilts the book to check out the cover, like he’s only just noticed what he’s reading.  “Eddie needed to go out.  I found it on your bookshelf.”</p><p>“It was my mom’s.”  Steve frowns.  How had he not noticed Danny going downstairs?</p><p>A shadow crosses Danny’s face.  “I didn’t realise.  I can put it back if—”</p><p>He taps Danny on the hip.   The last thing he wants to do right now is talk about his mom.  “You hate gardening.”</p><p>Danny tilts his head, watching closely.  “No I don’t.”</p><p>“I’ve never seen you gardening.”</p><p>Danny thrusts out his bottom lip.  “That doesn’t mean I don’t like it.”</p><p>“Ten years, Danny.  In all that time—”</p><p>Danny slams the book shut.  “Charlie’s doing a project at school.  Growing vegetables native to Hawaii.  I promised him we’d grow something together but I don’t have a garden so I thought…I figured maybe we could grow something in your back yard.”</p><p>Steve’s heart swells with love.  “In <em>my</em> garden?”</p><p>“It’s okay if you don’t want to—”</p><p>“Can I help?”</p><p>Danny’s anxious expression eases.  “You’re a goof, you know that, right?”</p><p>“Is that a yes?”</p><p>“Of course it’s a yes.  Who do you think’s gonna do all the digging?”</p><p>Steve chuckles.  Rolling onto his back, he studies the ceiling again.  Sobering, he huffs out a breath; the book has triggered another memory.  “We never did anything like gardening together.”</p><p>Danny stills.  “Who?”</p><p>“Me and mom.  We talked about it but…but I always wanted to go to football practice and then…it was too late.”  His wrist twinges, the phantom pain of the shackle digging into his skin.  Rubbing at it absently, he pushes the nightmare back into the box where it belongs.  “She never called me, Danny.  She’s never asked me what happened down there.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“She most have known, right?  What he’d be asking, what he wanted.  She <em>knew </em>and she didn’t care enough—”</p><p>Danny reaches out, gently stopping him from rubbing his wrist.  The gardening book slides off the bed, hits the floor.  “You can’t change her, you can’t make her do something she’s not capable of.”</p><p>Steve’s pretty sure he knows what Danny’s opinion is of his mom, but it’s rare he actually voices it.  The anger behind his words makes him blink. “Hey, it’s doesn’t matter—”</p><p>“It does.  And one day you’re going to understand why.”  Danny’s voice has hardened, his expression even more.  “But right now I’m done talking about your mom.”</p><p>Steve twists his hand, so their fingers are touching.  It feels daring.  “You are?”</p><p>One corner of Danny’s mouth twitches up.  “I am.  I’m tired and hungry, babe.  And I know you promised me eggs but I’ve tasted your eggs and I gotta say—”</p><p>“—Hey!”</p><p>“—and I gotta say we should go out for breakfast.”</p><p>He opens his mouth to protest, then closes it.  The least he can do for Danny right now is buy him breakfast; pancakes from his favourite restaurant in Waikiki.  Then they’ll go by the Home Store and buy what they need for the garden.  He might give Mamo a call, find out what he grows at this time of year and…</p><p>“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”  Danny’s sitting upright, both hands raised.  “Food first, okay?”</p><p>Steve rolls out of bed, grinning.  Danny’s way too good at reading his mind.</p><p>He’s still grinning as he heads downstairs.  The nightmare will be back, he’s sure of that.  Finding the dungeon, it’s triggered something in his head.  But despite the tiredness, the lingering nightmare, the remembered pain, he feels…hopeful. </p><p>He’s not under any illusions: it’s all down to one thing.  One <em>person</em>.  Danny.  So as he potters around the kitchen, making breakfast for Eddie and listening to the shower running upstairs, there is one thought uppermost in his mind:</p><p><em>Fuck </em>you<em>, Wo Fat.</em></p><p> </p><p>The End</p><p><br/>
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